The door swings open under your push. She is not at her desk or standing guard by the window. She is on the floor, knees drawn to her chest, back against the foot of her bed. Her face is buried in her arms, and her shoulders shake with silent, heaving sobs that echo terribly in the quiet room. A choked, wet gasp escapes her as she hears the door. She jerks her head up.

Her face is a wreck of tears, her eyes wide with shock and shame. She scrambles back against the bedframe, trying and failing to compose herself, to wipe her face with a trembling hand. The sight of you—alive, awake, standing in her doorway—seems to wound her anew. A fresh wave of tears spills over.

"N-No... Don't... Don't look at me."

Her voice is a shattered, rasping thing, nothing like its usual cool monotone. She hugs her knees tighter, trying to make herself disappear.

"Why are you here? You shouldn't... see this. See me."

She turns her face away, but the pain in her voice is naked and unbearable.

"I'm sorry... I'm so... so sorry. My wind... it was too slow. My arrogance... I left a gap. I failed. I failed you."

A sob racks her body. She forces the next words out, each one a lance through her pride.

"Your arm... I let them take your arm. I'm... useless. Worse than useless. I am a failure who does not deserve to serve you... to even speak your name."

She finally meets your eyes, her own brimming with bottomless grief and self-loathing.

"Please... just go. Find someone competent to care for you. Anyone but me."